


Jim Gordon/Victor Zsasz ficlet collection

by Limpet666



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Heavy Petting, Humour, M/M, mutual affection, scarecrow toxin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11522832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limpet666/pseuds/Limpet666
Summary: A collection of short ficlets and drabbles written to prompts. A variety of ratings and lengths.





	1. This is… exactly what it looks like.

**“This is… exactly what it looks like.”**

 

“Hey Jim are you done with– Holy–!” Harvey tried to about face back through the motel door in three different directions at once, such was his hurry to try and unsee what he was seeing.

“Harvey!” The shout was surprised and horrified, and then abruptly silent as Jim’s mouth worked helplessly to come up with some excuse. Not that there was much hope of that as he tried to pull the halves of his shirt back together whilst the man he was straddling tried to stop him in an absent, unhelpful way.

“ _Victor stop it,”_ Jim hissed, leaning back to try and escape his hands, as he hurriedly looked to Harvey. He knew there was no real way to explain away the reason he was half naked atop a similarly dressed Victor Zsasz, hair tousled, and very red-faced (Jim that was, Zsasz appeared to mostly be annoyed they had been interrupted, and not in the least bit embarrassed.)

“Harvey, this isn’t– this is–”

“–exactly what it looks like,” Victor finished, tilting his head back to look over at Harvey with a completely unapologetic, and intentionally unnerving, grin.

And despite Jim’s mortified cry, the statement had the desired effect (as far as Zsasz was concerned) because Harvey finally managed to find his momentum and escape the  _very bizzarre situation_  he had found his partner in.

A situation he wasn’t entirely sure he even wanted an explanation for.


	2. You might not like me, but you definitely want me.

**“You might not like me, but you definitely want me.”**

 

“Did you drink my milk again?”

Jim couldn’t even be bothered to question why Victor Zsasz was in his apartment again. It had been a  _long_  day. If he was lucky maybe the assassin was there to put him out of his misery once and for all.

“Maybe,” Zsasz admitted, looking up from from the men’s magazine he had been perusing, perched on one of the counters by the sink. Apparently waiting for Jim to get home.

The calmness was bizarre, but Jim couldn’t be bothered to fight it as he shrugged his jacket off and went to fix himself a stiff drink. That it required him to reach past Victor’s hip for a clean glass was something he couldn’t even care to examine.

He poured the drink in silence, both of them acting like everything was very normal when it clearly wasn’t.

“What are you doing here, Victor?” Jim finally asked tiredly as he sipped from his glass, nose wrinkling at the familiar burn of alcohol. 

Considering he didn’t already have a bullet or a blade in him, Jim figured Zsasz wasn’t there to kill him.

Zsasz shrugged at the question, “Slow day,” he explained, “Figured I’d come check up on my friends.”

Jim nearly choked on his drink, and after a few seconds he fixed Zsasz with an unimpressed expression.

“We’re not friends Victor,” He said sternly, “I don’t evenlike you.”

Zsasz’s confident smirk was enough to put Jim suddenly on edge.

“You might not like me, but you definitely want me.” The way he slinked down from the counter made Jim back away, scowling.

“I dont–” It was two unconvincing syllables, and Zsasz grinned wider whilst Jim scowled darker, heat rising to his cheeks.

“Come on Jim,” Zsasz cajoled, stalking forward until Jim’s back hit a wall and then closing the distance between them, looming over the detective no matter how tall he tried to stand. “Let’s kill some time together.”

Jim couldn’t find his words, one hand fisted against the wall, the other clutching his glass so hard it threatened to shatter.

That was until Victor took it from his grasp and down the last inch of amber liquid without so much as a flicker in his smirking expression.

Jim didn’t know whether he wanted to punch him or kiss him.

It turned out to be the latter.


	3. You should see me in my old uniform. I’m pretty sure it still fits.

**“You should see me in my old uniform. I’m pretty sure it still fits.”**

 

Jim Gordon had  **never**  seen Victor Zsasz flustered. And he was pretty sure he was accurate in thinking no one had.

Beaten up, yes. Bested and arrested, yes.

But flustered, not a chance.

Until the moment Jim walked out of his room, fresh from the shower, in his old army uniform; khaki jacket undone over a white vest above army standard slacks.

Jim had been right, they  _did_  still fit.

The conversation had happened days ago, and had been so throwaway Victor clearly hadn’t been expecting Jim to actually dig out the old uniform.

_“You should see me in my old uniform. I’m pretty sure it still fits.”_

_“Oh yeah?”  
_

Oh yeah.

“What do you think?” Jim asked, grinning teasingly when Victor shifted and looked away with a cough, trying to hide the surprised flush Jim had already seen.

Jim crossed to where the other man was leaning against the kitchen counter, fresh coffee forgotten.

“If you don’t like it I can take it off ag–” The rush of movement made Jim yelp, and in an instant Victor had him up on the kitchen counter, leaning up into his face with a heated gaze.

“Leave it on,” Zsasz grinned, despite his pinked cheeks, situating himself between Jim’s legs when the other man wrapped his arms around his shoulders with a smirk.

“I’ll help you take it off later.”


	4. Don’t call me ‘princess,’ asshole.

**“Don’t call me ‘princess,’ asshole.”**

 

Strung up next to Victor Zsasz, the last thing Jim Gordon expected was to be  _turned on._

The cuffs bit into his wrist painfully, and exactly  _how_  he’d ended up next to the assassin in the line up of murder-victims-to-be was anyone’s guess.

But here he was, and Victor Zsasz was talking shit and they were both in trouble.

“Don’t call me ‘Princess,’ Asshole.” Victor was leaning forward in his cuffs, expression pulled to a displeased grimace. And his uncharacteristically aggressive tone did  _something_  to Jim.

“What’s wrong,” the stocky woman asked with a sneer, stepping close, “You scared,  _Princess?”_

Her mistake, getting so close, especially since she was the only one in the room.

In the blink of an eye Zsasz had wrenched himself up on the chain and flung his legs around her neck. Within seconds she was unconscious, and moments later Zsasz let her drop to the floor.

“Too easy,” Zsasz scoffed, demeanor back to the usual dispassionate visage as he toed off his boots and unhooked her keys with his toes.

Seconds later, and with a flexibility that made Jim blush further, Zsasz had the keys in hand and was unlocking his cuffs.

Once free, Zsasz crossed to Jim, and Jim recoiled uncertainly. They weren’t exactly on the best of terms, as far as Jim was concerned

But all he did was lean close and unlock Jim’s cuffs.

“Alright, let’s go,” Zsasz said like he didn’t notice Jim’s movements, stepping away as soon as he was done and looking to the exit.

“This wont be easy.” Jim said slowly, taking the key from Zsasz and passing it to the other victims in the room that were thankfully quiet.

Zsasz smirked then, and Jim felt something dangerous and warm shift in his chest.

“Nothing fun ever is, Jim.”


	5. Say it again.

**“Say it again.”**  

 

Jim set his head down against Victor’s shoulder, shuddering from the pain in his side.

“Say it again,” Victor murmured into his hair, arms around Jim’s ribs to hold the weight of the weak and shivering detective. Getting stabbed hadn’t been part of the plan,  _but_  they were inside the compound, and that counted for something.

“This is all your fault?” Jim grumbled, one hand fisted in the shirt at Victor’s hip, the other pressed tight over the painful but not life-threatening wound in his side.

“The other thing, Jim,” Victor’s voice was short but amused, mouth intimately close, and Jim grinned despite himself.

“ _I trust you”_

It was a new step in their less than conventional relationship, but the way that Victor’s arms tightened around him told Jim it wasn’t unwelcome.

Hopefully they would would be able to get out of there soon and explore this development further. Preferably when neither of them was bleeding.


	6. Does that line ever work?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one can be read as a follow-up to 'Full of Suprises', which has its own listing.

**“Does that line ever work?”**

 

“Hey Jim, is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me…again?”

The frustrated noise Jim growled was music to Victor’s ears, despite how he was being pinned face-first against a wall of Jim’s apartment, arm twisted uncomfortably up his back.

Jim held him a few more seconds before shoving away with a huff and putting a few steps between them. 

Victor turned around slowly, prowling like a tiger and observing Jim rubbing at the blush on his cheek with an annoyed expression.

“Does that line  _ever_  work,” Jim tried to scoff, playing down his own embarrassment at the memory of what had happened last time the assassin had paid a visit.

Victor shrugged, “You tell me,” he intoned, stepping forward, and watching Jim steel himself to not step away.

They both knew this was the exact movement that had gotten him into trouble  _last time_.

This time Victor didn’t hesitate as he stepped right up to Jim and cupped his face to pull him into a firm kiss.

There was a pause before Jim exhaled a shuddering breath that was equal parts uncertainty and pleasure, and then his fingers curled into Victor’s jacket. Gentle at first, then gripping hard as he pressed up to the assassin.

It was firm and deep, but not as aggressive as last time, and Jim leaned up on his toes to press into the touch.

“Would you look at that,” Victor smirked when they finally parted for air, “It  _wasn’t_  a gun after all.”


	7. I really don’t mean to bother you, but can I stay the night?

**“I really don’t mean to bother you, but can I stay the night?”**

 

“Oh for fuc–” **  
**

If Jim had had any say in the matter he would have slammed the door there and then, but the hand that Zsasz braced against the window, and the bloody handprint he was leaving on the glass denied him that option.

“I really don’t mean to bother you–”

Jim sincerely doubted that.

“–but can I stay the night?”

Jim didn’t even bother trying to catch the assassin when he fell into a dead faint on the hard wood of Jim’s floor.

Jim let out a huffing growl of frustration.

“Great.”

—

With little choice in the matter, Jim dragged the assassin in further so he could at least shut the door. After checking that no one had followed him, of course.

He wanted to leave Vic–Zsasz (he reminded himself they were no longer on a first name basis) there on the floor until he woke up and Jim could tell him to get lost.

(Maybe Zsasz would just bleed out on the floor and save all of them at the GCPD a lot of headaches.)

He wanted to want to leave him. He really wanted to want to.

But after a few long moments of pacing indecision, Jim finally growled in defeated frustration and set about dragging Zsasz to the couch.

He blamed it on left over sentimentality, and it irked him, but he couldn’t just ignore Zsasz asking for help.

Zsasz’s wounds turned out to turned out to be a fairly deep stab wound and what looked like a burn from a cattle prod, and that tempered Jim’s surprise at Zsasz’s injured state.

Even Victor Zsasz couldn’t defend or ignore a cattle prod to the ribs. Jim was surprised he’d even made it two steps, let alone all the way to Jim’s apartment from god knows where.

Jim had just finished dressing the knife wound in Zsasz’s flank when the assassin regained consciousness.

As soon as the assassin look coherent Jim started.

“Why did you come here, Zsasz?” Jim asked immediately, scowling in displeasure and moving away to put distance between them.

Zsasz took a few moments to assess his surroundings, clearly in no hurry to answer Jim, nor worried for his safety, Despite him being one of Gotham’s most wanted criminals, and Jim a police officer.

They both knew they were way beyond that particular issue.

“Only place I could think of,” Zsasz admitted, sitting up without even a wince, “Did you carry me from the door?” He asked, sounding impressed.

“I dragged you,” Jim said with a scowl, like he wouldn’t even consider carrying Zsasz because he didn’t deserve it (and not because Jim wasn’t physically capable of the feat.)

Zsasz ‘hmm’ed dismissively, then seemed to finally notice he was missing his shirt, and then noticed his wounds had been cleaned and dressed.

“If I’d known all I needed to do was get stabbed to get you take my shirt off again I would have tried it sooner,” Zsasz said, finally looking to Jim with a grin, the expression not diminishing in the slightest at the flicker of hurt and ensuing anger that appeared on Jim’s face.

“Get out, Victor,” Jim spat, standing to his feet and pacing away from Vic- Zsasz damnit! - in disgust.

He kept his back to Zsasz, but listened to him moving. Presumably pulling his bloodied shirt and jacket back on.

Jim was caught off guard by the hand on his back and swift kiss pressed over his shoulder to his cheek. Had Zsasz not moved so silently Jim probably would have punched him for trying, but as it was Jim was so caught off guard he couldn’t move.

“Thanks Jim,” Zsasz’s voice was unusually soft and sincere.

And then before Jim could recover, Zsasz was gone back out into the night, leaving Jim only bloody cloths and conflicting emotions. 


	8. You know for someone so tall...

**“You know for someone so tall you’d think you’d be use to ducking under walls, but here you are with an ice pack and the doorway has a knick in it.”**

 

Jim couldn’t help the fond laugh that escaped him as he crouched in front of Victor, his expression amused but sympathetic. The assassin was sat on his couch, hunched over and cradling his sore head, and had been since almost knocking himself out on the low beam of the door jam in Jim’s apartment.

He had apparently been there to give Jim some sort of warning, complete with intimidation (something Victor hadn’t seemed to realise didn’t work on Jim anymore since they’d started sleeping together) but hadn’t gotten very far.

“Here,” Jim’ said softly, touching Victor’s knee before gently laying the icepack against the rapidly growing bruise above his forehead. To his credit, Victor barely even flinched at that, instead letting out a small relieved sigh.

“You know for someone so tall you’d think you’d be use to ducking under walls,” Jim laughed, smiling as Victor pressed into the coolpack in Jim’s hand.

“But here you are with an ice pack and the doorway has a knick in it.”

“You’ve got low doorways, Jim,” Victor grumbled, opening one eye past his headache and looking at Jim like it was his fault.

Jim could only flash him a lopsided grin, relieved to see the expression weakly returned as Victor lifted a hand to press over Jim’s on the cool pack.

“And low standards, apparently,” Jim countered with amusement, before leaning in to kiss the assassin before he could utter a protest.

He felt it was an adequate apology for something that wasn’t really his fault, after all. 


	9. I think you’re just afraid to be happy.

**“I think you’re just afraid to be happy.”**

 

“We need to end this.”

Jim’s voice was soft and indecisive as he buttoned up his shirt, perched on the edge of the bed they had just occupied and keeping his back to Victor, who remained under the covers.

“Is that right?” Victor said curiously, obviously entirely unconvinced.

“If anyone found out…”

Jim Gordon, the on-again-off-again golden boy of the GCPD, sleeping with one of the most wanted assassins in Gotham? It was career suicide.

“Who’s going to find out, Jim?” Victor wasn’t going to fawn over Jim, or beg him to reconsider, but he would point out the flaws in his argument with pleasure.

“But if anyone did…” Jim turned to look at Victor, only to find the assassin mere inches away, and it startled him to silence.

“You know what, Jim?” Victor intoned, expression knowing and predatory as he lifted a hand and threaded his fingers into Jim’s hair.

“I think you’re just afraid to be happy.”

Jim’s protesting noise was cut off by the hard kiss Victor pressed to his mouth, and nimble fingers began undoing all the buttons Jim had just fastened.

He would never admit it to his face, but as Victor pulled him down onto the bed, Jim knew he might have a point.


	10. It’s okay, I’ll take care of you.

**“It’s okay, I’ll take care of you.”**

 

The fact that both of them had been sent independently to look into the new string of ‘terror assaults’ was both fortuitous and compromising.

Compromising because both of them were left in the uncomfortable position of working in tandem whilst trying not to act like they had a secret relationship on the side.

(Something Jim was far more on edge about than Victor).

Fortuitous because Victor Zsasz had been warned to bring a gas mask with him.

Jim Gordon hadn’t been so lucky.

The attacks had begun about a week ago; people suddenly overcome with an absolute abject terror that had resulted violent assaults and self inflicted wounds, and almost half a dozen deaths. These happened amongst both civilians (Jim’s purview) and criminals (Zsasz’s reason for being there) alike.

But nowhere in the civilian report had it been reported that the terror agent had been a gas.

The criminal underground, however, was far more informed.

The gas bomb erupted in a cloud of dusty red a mere three feet in front of Jim Gordon without warning, and he had already got a large lungful by the time Victor cut through the smoke and shoved him back into the clear air.

Gas mask in place, Victor pursued the distant figure, firing his gun uselessly.

When it was clear there was no catching up, Victor halted with a huff of annoyance, and yanked off the mask to take a breath of fresher air.

At least he had a good idea of who they were up against now, and with that knowledge he turned back the way he had come.

By the time he got back to Jim, the gas had already dispersed and no longer posed a threat.

Jim, however, was still suffering the effects of the agent, and from the looks of it something was different with this particular strain.

“Jim?” Victor approached him slowly, taking in the state of the detective curiously.

Jim had managed to find himself backed against a wall and appeared to be using it to hold himself up as he took deep, rapid breaths. Even with his chin tucked down against his collar, Victor could see Jim’s cheeks were flushed bright red, and the fingers of his free hand were clutched tight in the fabric of his pants leg.

Unfortunately his other hand was still curled tight around his gun, and Zsasz really didn’t fancy being accidentally shot today.

“Hey Jim?” Jim didn’t appear to hear him, and Victor took a slow step forward, leaning forward and reaching out to the weapon the shaking detective held.

With no answer forthcoming, Victor darted forward and wrapped his hand around the gun, fingers curling in a way to stop it accidentally going off.

That Jim gave up his weapon without argument was evidence enough that he was not in his right mind, and his freed hand immediately reached forward to grab Victor’s shirt, pulling him close.

“I don’t…” he gasped out between gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut over flushed cheeks. “I’m… too hot.”

Pressed up close to Jim, Victor could feel just how hot (and hard) he was, and made a mental note to update his employers on this new but equally incapacitating strain of the gas. There were bound to be multiple uses for this particular type of effect.

But for now, Jim was pulling him closer, his breathing taking on an edge of desperation as he finally opened his eyes too look up at the other man. His pupils were blown wide, and the gas had given his irises a pink hue.

“Please–”

“It’s okay,” Victor leaned in, pushing Jim back against the wall and drawing a pleading whimper from the shorter man when he pressed his thigh up between his legs.

“I’ll take care of you.”


	11. It's two sugars, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This follows up to the previous ficlet.

**“It’s two sugars, right?”**

 

Jim awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and a pounding headache.

“Ugh.”

It was the only noise he could successfully form as the wave of aching and stiffness made itself known when he tried to move.

“It’s two sugars, right?” The voice came accompanied by the bed shifting as someone sat down on the edge, and Jim cracked open an eye to look at the form of Victor Zsasz.

“What happened?” He groaned as he gingerly pushed himself over and attempted to sit up.

After setting the coffee down on the bedside table, Victor reached out to help Jim sit up with gentle hands.

“You don’t remember?” That Victor’s voice was curious without its usual jovial edge told Jim something unusual must have transpired.

“Not much,” Jim admitted, scowling as he tried to recall and getting only fragments.

“You got hit by some of that agent we were chasing,” Victor reminded, his dark eyes flicking over Jim, clearly assessing if there was any lasting damage.

“But it was–”

“Different,” Jim finished, scowling, then blushing when he remembered.

The heat. The way his skin itched and crawled in desire. The desperate whimpering.

“Oh…” he groaned in realisation, putting a hand to his face to hide his embarrassment, realising now exactly why he was naked and aching.

Victor’s laugh had a relieved edge, and Jim peered over his hand weakly.

“How long–” his memory of their activities all blurred together in one long haze of pleasure.

“Hours, Jim,” Victor informed him with a laugh, and it was only then that Jim noticed the red scratches all over Victor’s pale back and shoulders. It was then that Jim recalled some distant memory of dragging his nails over his skin over and over, clutching and begging and–

“I’m so sorry.” It was all Jim could think to say, but Victor shook his head and reached out to take his hand.

“It’s fine, Jim,” Victor said sincerely, and despite how awful Jim felt, objectively he knew this was  neither the worst nor the weirdest thing that had happened to Victor Zsasz.

“Then… thanks.” It was the next best thing he could think of, and he truly was grateful Victor had been there. God knows what would have happened if Jim had been alone. It didn’t bear thinking about.

“You’re welcome, Jim,” Victor grinned, bracing an arm next to Jim’s hip as he leaned in, “Next time I’d rather you weren’t on any experimental gassing agents though.”

Jim laughed weakly, leaning in to press a light kiss to Victor’s mouth before resting their foreheads together.

“Deal.”


	12. Your hair's growing back.

“Your hair’s growing back in.” **  
**

Jim’s voice was rough from sleep as he murmured his first words of the day, and Victor huffed out a laugh in lieu of an answer.

Head pillowed on one arm, Jim traced his fingertips over Victor’s skin, feeling the few days worth of hair growth; the prickly stubble contrasted with the patches of smooth skin where the hair didn’t grow at all.

“Well you haven’t given me much of a chance to get out of bed, Jim,” Victor grinned, turning his head against Jim’s hand and feeling the callouses of his palm against his cheek.

Jim hummed out a noise that said he wasn’t (that) amused by what Victor was trying to insinuate, and slid his hand down from his cheek to the bandages that wrapped over the assassin’s shoulder.

“That’s because you got shot,” He stated matter of fact, brows pulling together in a concerned frown as he looked at the bandages, and Victor raised a hand to take Jim’s, hoping he wasn’t about to get emotional on him.

Luckily Jim just turned his displeased look back to Victor, “And I had to drag your stupid ass here so you didn’t get shot again.”

Victor blew out a dismissive noise, rolling his shoulders down against the sheets as though to demonstrate that he was fine.

But Jim wasn’t fooled; he knew Victor’s tolerance for pain was beyond normal. He had only showed any signs of being in pain once Jim had driven him (unwillingly) to the safehouse and gotten him locked inside. Until that point the bleeding wound in his shoulder had seemed only to inconvenience him by making his palm slippery on his gun.

“Stop that,” Jim sat up and put his hand on Victor’s chest to stop him moving more, “I’ll let you up if you have to promise not to leave until I say so.”

Victor made a considering noise, using his uninjured arm to run a hand back over his head thoughtfully. Jim had kept him pretty much horizontal for almost three days (and not in the fun way), so being allowed to get up for more than bathroom breaks would be prefereable.

But on the other hand…

“I dunno, Jim,” Victor looked up at the detective with a predatory grin, hooking his fingers into the waistband of the boxers Jim had slept in, “You might need to convince me a bit harder why I would want to stay.”


	13. Teach me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Teach me?”

It was usually a bundle of mixed of emotions every time Jim left the warm body of Victor Zsasz in his bed.

Sometimes it was easier when Victor left before he even woke up, so he could pretend that his life wasn’t a clusterfuck of dubious moral choices and extreme conflicts of interest.

But only sometimes.

Most of the time, despite the doubt and guilt that knotted his stomach, his affection for the assassin and the gentle no-nonsense way Victor treated him made him feel alive.

Victor made him feel valued.

And occasionally there were mornings like today, where the doubt and guilt failed to make an appearance, and everything just felt… nice.

The alarm buzzed quietly at first, steadily increasing in volume until Jim threw out a hand with a groan to silence it. Against his chest, an answering hum of displeasure warmed his skin, and fingers curled against his side as Victor valiantly fought waking up.

Jim allowed himself a few minutes to properly wake, his hand lifting to gently rub over the smooth skin of Victor’s back as he contemplated the top of his lover’s head. Victor showed no signs of moving, and Jim had no real reason to make him get up, so he just allowed him to sleep on for a time.

Eventually, though, Jim had to get up, and after some protesting and fond laughter he finally extricated himself from under the assassin.

“Just go back to sleep, Victor,” Jim told him once he was on his feet, leaning down to press a kiss above Victor’s ear, and getting only a grumble in reply.

With coffee made and half drunk, and the last slice of his toast in hand, Jim went back to his bedroom to dress.

He was halfway through tying his tie when Victor’s voice, fully awake and loud in the quiet of the morning, startled an undignified noise out of Jim without warning.

“What are you doing?”

“Jeez–!” Jim rounded to look at his lover, finding Victor peering out from under the covers, chin propped up on one hand. If he was apologetic for scaring Jim, he didn’t show it, and he just waited for an answer.

“I’m uh…” Jim looked down at the half-tied knot that he would have to start again, “Tying a tie?” Was this a trick question?

Victor sat up, the duvet falling across his lap more from fortune than design, and he peered at Jim curiously.

“How?”

It took Jim a moment to process the question, especially since it seemed nonsensical.

“What do you mean, ‘how’?” He asked, separating the sides out and turning away to start again. “You’ve worn a tie, Victor.”

Jim watched via the mirror as Victor’s head cocked.

“Um… no I haven’t,” Victor corrected, and Jim’s confusion must have shown on his face because he continued. “No one ever made me wear a tie, Jim.”

“Never?”

“Well, Falcone tried… requested… repeatedly,” Victor looked to the ceiling thoughtfully, “He put one on me once. It… didn’t survive.”

Jim cracked a grin and turned back to regard Victor fondly.

“Teach me?” Victor asked hopefully, and if it was a ploy just to make Jim stay there a little longer, Jim found himself in no hurry to get out of the door.

“Alright.”

Given their height difference, Jim had Victor stay on the bed and instead climbed back onto the mattress, kneeling behind the assassin. A position neither of them minded as Victor leaned back into Jim’s chest.

With the tie draped around Victor’s bare neck, Jim demonstrated the knot, slowly and repeatedly until Victor reached to try himself. Their fingers brushed as Jim guided his hands over the soft fabric, and after only a few tries Victor had a perfect half-windsor knot.

“Well done,” Jim grinned, matching Victor’s own pleased expression, and running his hands down over the tie, incidentally spreading his fingers over Victor’s chest and stomach at the same time.

“Thanks, Jim,” Victor hummed, dark eyes peering at their reflection in the mirror.

Jim leaned close over Victor’s shoulder, fingertips still on the tie as he spoke close into his ear.

“I’m going to need this back, you know,” he murmured, watching Victor’s expression turn pleased and predatory in the mirror before the assassin turned his head to meet Jim’s gaze.

“Is that right?” Victor’s expression was challenging, and Jim slid his hand up to hook around the knot of the tie and took a firm grip.

“That’s right.”

Before Victor could retort with anything more, Jim used his tight hold on the tie to pull Victor in a demanding kiss.

Jim was going to be very late to work. 


	14. Can I kiss you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Can I kiss you?”

Jim didn’t know how it had happened, but considering he was alive right now, he supposed he couldn’t complain.

The situation had looked hopeless; Jim was cornered in an alley, with only his gun and his wits about him, neither of which were going to be enough to save him from the thugs looking to collect on his bounty.

But Jim was an officer of the law through and through. He was prepared to face his fate, and only hoped that he could take out a few of them before the lights went out for good.

But as he launched himself proactively at the first attacker, there was an abrupt cacophony of noise.

Everything else was lost to the confusion, but within second Jim was knocked senseless to the floor by a punch to the temple. It felt like tens of minutes as he tried to regather his senses, but in reality it was only a few score seconds before someone was yanking him to his feet and dragging him down the alley.

To his shame, it was only when he was hazily unlocking his front door that Jim finally realised the man helping him inside was non other than Victor Zsasz.

“Zsasz?” In Jim’s head it was a growl, but whether that translated into reality was another matter.

Jim felt the soft cushion of an armchair against his knees, and thankfully sank into it with a relieved sigh.

His senses were returning, and with it the realisation that everywhere hurt.

“What happened?” Jim asked, aware there were short gaps in his memory as he blinked to find his focus.

“They won’t be bothering you again,” Zsasz’s voice was… well it was pleasing to hear. Low and mostly monotone, it was easy on Jim’s thumping head, and he was aware of deft finger tips undoing his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked quietly, surprised to find he wasn’t worried to have Zsasz to close. Apparently he had saved him after all, and Jim wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“They beat you pretty bad, Jim,” Zsasz replied, and Jim couldn’t help notice how cool Victor’s fingertips were as they pressed over his abdomen and ribs, checking for breaks and punctures.

“How do you feel?”

Jim was surprised by the question, and he took a few moments before taking a deep breath and nodding.

“Sore… but okay,” he flashed a half grin at Victor, “Nothing broken.”

Victor nodded, looking into Jim’s eyes, then down at his chest, before shifting to move back.

It was only then that Jim saw how close Victor was crouched, right in front of his chair with a cool palm pressed to his chest.

Before Zsasz could pulled back, Jim caught his hand, holding it to his chest.

“I… owe you one, Victor.”

The use of the assassin’s first name clearly had an effect, Victor’s expression lifting curiously.

“You saved my life,” Jim insisted, smiling at him appreciatively.

Victor shifted uncertainly, before slipping down onto his knees, putting him closer to Jim, who held the assassin’s hand to his chest despite the proximity.

“You’re… you’re welcome, Jim… I…” Victor shrugged, obviously not sure how to finish the sentence, even as he drifted closer because of Jim’s hold on his hand.

Given that Victor wasn’t trying to pull away, Jim realised the understanding that was happening between them. It was up to him to decide the next step.

So he made a decision.

“Can I kiss you?”

The look of surprise on Victor’s face was animated and endearing, and Jim grinned at the uncharacteristic surprise.

But after a few moments falter, Victor nodded, and Jim leaned in.

It would complicate things immensely, but as Victor pressed into the contact, and Jim wrapped a strong arm over his shoulder, neither could find it in them to care.


	15. I saw you staring at each other...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”

 Jim shifted suspiciously when Oswald called for Zsasz to step up at his side.

 For his part, Zsasz moved obediently, taking his place next to the self-proclaimed (if miniature) King of Gotham with all his usual confidence.

 Jim was only there to collect, begrudgingly, on a favour Oswald owed him. He hadn’t even known Victor would be there.

 “What is this, Oswald?” Jim grumbled, trying not to make eye contact with the assassin.

 Oswald shrugged magnanimously, wearing that oh-so-smug smile that put Jim’s hackles up automatically.

 “Oh, I don’t know Jim,” Oswald started, “I’m just curious  _I suppose._ I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage. This seemed like a perfect chance to clear the air.”

 Jim growled to hide the blush, whilst Victor just lifted his brows. Almost like he was impressed Oswald had figured out they were sleeping together.

 “It’s not–!”

 “–Bit of both really.”

 Both Jim and Victor spoke at the same time, and Oswald’s cheshire grin up at Zsasz did nothing to settle Jim’s nerves.

 “Is that right…?” Oswald looked liked the cat that got the cream, and Jim just wanted to sink into a hole in the ground.

 “That’s… got nothing to do with this,” Jim growled from between gritted teeth, and Oswald looked back to him with an open expression. Zsasz looked entirely unperplexed, and remained the dutiful assassin at Oswald’s side.

 “ _Quite right,”_  Oswald agreed, but his expression told Jim that he definitely hadn’t heard the last of this. Jim could only imagine what kind of manipulation The Penguin was scheming up.

 It was in that moment that Jim resolved to give Victor a lesson in discretion later that night.


	16. Sleeping in garbage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No prompt.

“Victor–?”

Jim said it out if habit, even though he was hoping, really hoping, it wasn’t actually him.

The muzzy questioning noise he got in answer only unfortunately confirmed that it was, in fact, Victor.

It was too early for this nonesense.

“Victor, what are you doing sleeping in garbage at 7am?”

Not that there was ever an acceptable time to be found in garbage, of course, but emphasising the time seemed pertinent.

The smell was not ideal as Jim leaned over further to get a look into the large metal container, watching the man he (currently unfortunately) called his lover sit up amongst the trash.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Zsasz replied, looking around at his surroundings with a perplexed expression, then up at Jim.

“Hey Jim.”

Jim let out a ‘tch’ of annoyance, before standing back so Victor could climb out of the dumpster, watching him land uncharacteristically poorly on the concrete floor of the alley.

It was only in the daylight that Jim could make out the blood on Zsasz black pants. His leg had been injured.

“Were you hiding in there?” Jim asked, now annoyed and concerned as he went over to slide his arm around Victor’s waist to steady him.

“Yeah, maybe,” Victor shrugged evasively, but put his arm around Jim’s shoulders gratefully, taking some weight off his leg.

It was times like this that Jim’s affection for the assassin was apt to get him in trouble if he wasnt careful. But at that point all he cared about was that Victor was injured and likely in pain (whether he showed it or not).

“Alright,” Jim said gruffly, turning them to head out the other end of the alley, “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.” Luckily they weren’t far from Jim’s apartment.

“Thanks Jim.”

Jim nodded, before adding, “Like really cleaned up. Because you really smell so bad right now.”

Jim only wished he could guarantee this would be the only time he would be picking his lover, or himself, out of the garbage.


End file.
